


A Ticket to the Show

by Paranoia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a bastard, BDSM, Bottom!Aziraphale, Crowley is a brat, D/s, Divinity as a kink, F/M, Game Night, M/M, Restraints, Sub!Crowley, Top!Crowley, cum as lube, delayed gratification, dom!Aziraphale, in it to win it, patience is a virtue, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21786328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoia/pseuds/Paranoia
Summary: Game night was a contentious affair. Crowley was four under and about to wish Newt a very un-merry year, fuck you very much. He’s so very close to winning the game, and more importantly winning the prize. Aziraphale, however, has no plans to go down easy
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75
Collections: O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange





	A Ticket to the Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shae_C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shae_C/gifts).



> Written for the amazing and wonderful Shae_C, whom has been an inspiration and co-conspirator for a great many ideas that hopefully come to fruition. <3
> 
> With a _special_ thanks to [Kazeetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazeetie/pseuds/Kazeetie) for being a BAMF who screamed with me through this and two more upcoming fics. 
> 
> Lofe loves you all, Fiends.

Crowley wasn’t sure  _ who _ had suggested playing Ticket To Ride: Europe, but he suspected it was Newt. He also suspected Newt was going to need a new set of tires very fucking soon if Aziraphale took the solitary yellow card on the board. Crowley didn’t pray, or at least didn’t pray publicly, but he was a feather’s breath from either supplicating himself before God or blasphemy. He just needed a yellow, just one, to complete Venezia to Zagrad, complete his rail line and then play  _ anything else _ to close out the game.

Game night had originally just consisted of cajoling Aziraphale into a few rounds of strip poker a couple months into the relationship that had been on simmer for six thousand years. Poker had begrudgingly become cribbage, cribbage had become Rummy, Rummy had  _ prodigiously _ degraded into Gin Rummy, and somewhere in the hot-bed of game night Anathema and Newt had been drug into a frankly vicious evening of no-holds-barred Spades. All Fives Dominoes had been played exactly once, until Anathema had nearly took a lock of hair off of Crowley for the domino-shaped bruises Newt had gotten after a particularly nasty round had the demon flinging a handful at the wall. Crowley still hadn’t apologized. It was  _ hardly his fault _ if Newt had bad timing and chose a poor place to stand. Regardless of who was right, game night had soldiered on and morphed into board game night, every Friday evening-- wild bunch that they were— and they were slowly working up to more complicated games. Crowley had heard some interesting things about 7 Wonders, but it had taken Newt an entire month to grasp onto Settlers of Cataan, so progress was slow. 

Friday nights had become a tradition. Six months into including Anathema and Newt into their weekly ritual, game nights had settled onto a questionably sturdy table in a now-owned Jasmine Cottage. Six months after that Crowley had surprised Aziraphale with a tiny little bungalow on the outskirts of Tadfield, so Friday game nights could stretch into languorous Saturday afternoons spent visiting The Them, or picnicking amongst the apple trees. Aziraphale had been so overwrought with soppy emotions Crowley had to play it off, muttering  _ ‘to justify the two hour drive, don’t start with the waterworks,’ _ even though two hours to retired immortal beings was hardly much at all. The bungalow had served a far less altruistic purpose, however, because game night had started with Strip Poker. Strip Poker had come with a very specific clause-- whoever won got to top. Which, as time (and tallies) had gone on, shifted into who got to top for the week following. Once some less-than-vanilla preferences came to light, winning game night had taken on an extra layer of meaning and, at this current moment, urgency. Aziraphale,  _ the cheating wanker _ , had won the last two weeks in a row. Crowley had  _ plans _ for his angel that had been delayed by weeks, and he was determined not to go another week without trussing Aziraphale up in the much-closer tadfield bungalow.

So,  _ Crowley needed a goddamned yellow card _ so he could whip Aziraphale’s ass, figuratively and literally. And so help him  _ somebody _ if Aziraphale took that card and laid down enough train cars to trigger the game end and won because he was  _ one fucking car away _ from both a 20 point objective and longest continuous train, Crowley was going to do something to make Newt rue the day he was born. For that matter, if Aziraphale won Crowley would get to spend the entire evening hearing about Aziraphale being five up on him for the year’s tally in that smug tone of his. Crowley had increasingly vicious fantasies about fucking that tone straight out of Aziraphale’s vocal chords as the year went on. 

Crowley had been so distracted by one such fantasy (which had included a paddle and some clover clamps he’d recently seen in a shop) that he’d entirely missed Aziraphale laying out a pair of cards and setting two blue train cars down between Vanezia and Zagrad. When Aziraphale had tapped his foot under the table to bring him back to reality he’d zoned in on that yellow card with glee, also missing the self-satisfied smile on the angel’s face. He snatched up the prized card, and then the wild sitting on top of the draw pile after the spot had been filled until flicking his eyes down to the prize. It took Crowley a full second to process the sight of two blue plastic train cars sitting in his spot, and another second before he whipped his head over to stare at Aziraphale’s now-placid face.

“ _ You bastard. _ ” 

Aziraphale’s attempt at an innocent expression— complete with batting his eyelashes— was ruined as the smirk he had papered over earlier was tugging at the corners of his lips. Crowley fought down the urge to lunge across the table like some corny action movie. He didn’t have enough trains to go around, stations were already at both points for other players (and other tracks), and he and Aziraphale had been neck and neck. He’d lost before the game had officially ended and guaranteed Aziraphale didn’t even need that connection. Three flat tires and an unfortunate haircut were in Newt’s future. (Which, for any deities keeping track wasn’t quite fair, as Anathema had been the one to suggest the game, but Crowley wouldn’t dare do anything to her, anyway.) Crowley watched Anathema pull a similar move on an awestruck Newt who then panicked and laid down a train nowhere near his other tracks with a feeling somewhere near ‘dazed rage.’ 

“Last moves, dear” Aziraphale sing-songed at him, laying down three cars nowhere necessary. Crowley blinked slowly at his cards, trying to see if there was some sort of last-ditch effort he could make to fix this. There wasn’t, but he had 6 orange cards, 7 black cars left, and an open track to put them on. It wouldn’t be enough to win, but it’d lessen the loss. Truly, there was a slim possibility all of Aziraphale’s objectives were short jumps and Crowley’s more ambitious ones would cinch it, but it would be the first time Aziraphale had played to the smaller tracks and was pretty unlikely. 

\-----

“That makes 5 now, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale trilled smugly, face smug with an unattractive smug smile and the stupid smug bounce in his smug bloody steps. Crowley wasn’t particularly eloquent in his sulking, but the angel wore self-satisfaction like a particularly ugly coat. Crowley kicked at a tuft of grass heroically sprouting up between the pavers leading to their door and muttered nothing words under his breath. 

They were both hardly in the door before Aziraphale had wove some sort of complicated miracle that had Crowley’s hands bound tightly behind his back and backed into the wall to the left of the door with an impact that left him breathless. He was suddenly feeling an awful lot less sullen, and far more interested in still getting to the fucking part of the arrangement. Aziraphale was crowding him against the wall, not flush against him, but with nowhere to move. Crowley’s brain registered static in place of thoughts as Aziraphale nipped at the juncture of his jaw and neck,  _ hard _ . Crowley shuddered and felt a wave of pleasure rush from his neck down his spine, nipples tightening as the tingling rushed over his torso like a tangible thing.  Aziraphale stayed there, long enough to leave a deep purple welt behind when he finally released Crowley from the sharp pleasure of teeth. It took Crowley a concerted effort to not moan as a Aziraphale licked a searing stripe up his neck, before pulling his earlobe between wet lips and deliciously cruel teeth. He felt like a live wire, electricity thrumming beneath every millimeter of skin, as Crowley tried not to move, tried not to give in and give up his sour mood so quickly. Teeth scraped over his ear gloriously as Aziraphale made slow, calculated work of releasing him. He hovered, lips brushing barely-there kisses, breath whispering over sensitive skin. "My, what should we do about sore losers, my dear?"

And, well, maybe Crowley was still feeling a bit more peevish about the whole thing than he thought, because against any sort of better judgement he found himself saying, 'bout the same as sore winners, f'you ask me.' Like a child denied a sweet.

Aziraphale must have been surprised, because he pulled out of Crowley's space with a huff of amusement and a smile that spelled danger. The angel stared at him, like he was picking Crowley apart thread by thread, appraising how best to deal with a mouthy demon. Crowley shifted in anticipation under the piercing gaze, trying not to give the angel any ideas he wasn’t already working on. Aziraphale had a wicked streak a mile wide now that he wasn’t beholden to a higher power, and he took great pleasure in teaching Crowley all the ways he could be pulled apart and reassembled. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel exhilarated under the angel’s creative methods of punishment, but he would be a fool to not be nervous, either. Aziraphale was deceptively cunning, under the outdated clothing and genial charms. Crowley suppressed a shudder as Aziraphale’s face broke out into a wide grin. Not the sunny ‘welcome home’ grin, nor the ‘that’s my favorite patissier’ grin, but the confident grin of a puzzle solved perfectly. Crowley swallowed with an audible click, his dick already pulsing eagerly at the promises beneath that smile. 

He full-body shivered as Aziraphale traced delicate lines over his chest and up his neck, until hooking them under his chin, demanding eye contact. Somewhere in the back of his mind Crowley hoped the glasses had been miracled somewhere safe as he tried to meet Aziraphale’s eyes defiantly. It probably didn’t quite hit the mark, but the angel didn’t comment on it, so he’d take that as a win anyway. Aziraphale withdrew his hands, but didn’t step back as he flicked his gaze downwards. “On your knees, there’s a dear.” 

With his hands behind his back sliding down the wall would not be a graceful affair, and since he was already in for some sort of madness, Crowley threw out any sense he had and braced himself against Aziraphale as he slid down. He nosed Aziraphale’s dick through his ridiculously outdated trousers, which earned him another laugh and a firm hand in his hair, pulling him back and against the wall. 

He heard Aziraphale, fond and indulgent, murmur, ‘ _ you’re incorrigible. _ ’ Then a proper laugh and, “ _ And foolish. I was going to give you a taste, but perhaps I’ll leave you just like this. _ ”

Crowley did not like the sound of that. Not at all. He opened his mouth to say as much, but his wrists were suddenly unbound and he had half a mind to tackle the angel onto the bed. The split second it took Crowley to reconcile opening his mouth and sudden freedom was all Aziraphale had needed to seize Crowley’s shoulders, to push him back into the wall, back flat. Another miracle had Crowley’s hands pinned to the wall, bracketing his head and lacking the leverage to move at all. He spluttered indignantly as Aziraphale stepped back, trying to pull forward but with his wrists flush with the wall he could only manage four or five inches. Aziraphale continued retreating until he was sat on the edge of the bed a meter and a half away, with a self-satisfied smile marring his fine features.

“Look at you, all trussed up and nowhere to go.” 

Crowley groaned as Aziraphale laughed at his own ridiculous joke. He sagged against his ethereal bonds dramatically, muttering ‘ _ honestly angel. _ ’ 

“You make quite a sight like that, but,” Aziraphale made a show of waving his hand, and Crowley hissed as the cool air suddenly assaulted bare flesh, his dick throbbing in near-pain as it was suddenly free. Crowley lunged forward, determined to get his hands on the angel, and moaned obscenely as the divine shackles at his wrist bit back at him. He strained at them a moment more, thrilling at the little spikes of pleasure that raced down his spine at the pain. It ought to have been embarrassing, to take such open pleasure from the restraints, but Aziraphale’s pupils had gone wide and the angel had moved to palm himself. Crowley could hear Aziraphale breathing heavily as he struggled to compose himself. “ _ Oh, this is a much better look on you dear. _ ” He pulled against the restraints again, trying and failing to choke down another salacious sound as Aziraphale undid his trousers and took himself in hand, whimpering at the contact. 

“ _ Oh, yes,”  _ Aziraphale moaned, stroking himself firmly, “ _ I could come just watching you like this. _ ” 

Crowley’s mouth went dry, he could taste the memory of Aziraphale thick and heavy in his mouth. The memory— and his arousal— was so strong it took him a moment to understand what the angel’s plan was.

He thrashed against his bonds in earnest, not bothering to try and fight back the moan this time. 

“ _ You wouldn’t. _ ” He gasped, a fierce wanting pooling at the base of his spine. Aziraphale ignored him, stroking himself faster now with little moans and hitched breaths that went straight to Crowley’s cock. He didn’t know if he could discorporate from sheer lust, but the angel seemed intent on finding out. He was still straining at the bonds, wanting to touch Aziraphale, wanting to touch himself at the least. His tenuous grasp on reality nearly snapped when a particularly eager pull against his bonds sent pure fire racing through his veins, little tendrils of the ethereal powers holding him in place seeping into freshly broken skin. Crowley’s higher functions were entirely offline for a solid minute, and when he came back down to earth a bit he realized he’d been whimpering, ‘ _ fuck, fuck, fuck, _ ’ the entire time. 

With an absolutely wrecked sound Aziraphale miracled his own clothes away, sinking back onto his elbows and legs splaying open licentiously. His eyes were still locked onto Crowley as he thumbed over the head of his cock and moaned out. “ _ Ohh, Crowley, _ ” his breath hitched “ _ Look how good you— a-ah are for me, putting on, _ ” another breathy moan, “ _ s-such a show— oh... for me. _ ” Crowley could feel his own dick leaking furiously, could hear blood pounding in his ears. He lunged again, near feral with want, arms contorting painfully at the angle. 

Aziraphale’s head lolled back for a moment, and with obvious effort slowed his furious pace. He stilled for a moment, chest heaving with desperate breaths, before he shifted to stare at Crowley again. Suddenly a copious amount of pillows was supporting the angel, and his other hand slipped forward to— Crowley was going to go mad or discorporate or he was going to tear his own arms off. Aziraphale was teasing himself open, pumping two plump fingers inside as he began to stroke himself again. Crowley snapped, and hissed out a devastated “ _ Aziraphale, you’re going to kill me. _ ” The angel’s pace picked up but he didn’t respond in words, only hiccuping breaths and lewd sounds. 

He was beyond madness, beyond caring about something as foolish as pride, so Crowley begged,  _ “Aziraphale, please. _ ” The angel keened, roughly adding a third finger to the shallow thrusting at his entrance. “ _ Please, please. Aziraphale, Angel, let me touch you. _ ” This was a punishment both divine and cruel. Crowley knew the moment he was free to touch Aziraphale, to touch himself, that he wasn’t going to last long. He was already teetering on the edge, just a few touches away from completion. 

The begging must have been the final straw, because Aziraphale was coming, shouting “ _ Crowley _ ,” brokenly as he painted his chest with a viscous white stream. Crowley sobbed around his own moan, hearing his name screamed from the angels lips as he came undone and unable, still, to touch. Heavy breathing filled the room for a moment as Aziraphale recovered and Crowley balanced on the knife’s edge of his own denied orgasm. 

Finally, the bonds at Crowley’s wrists came loose and he fell forward onto his hands. He sat there for a moment, unable to process his freedom, hands numb and bloodless from straining for so long. 

“Come here, Crowley” Aziraphale whispered, voice shaking, and Crowley was surging forward with a snarl. The pillows were gone in the split second before he was at the bed, the angel laid out indecently against the comforter. Crowley’s hands were on Aziraphale’s knees, running up the insides of his thighs, trailing under to grasp a handful of the angel’s plump arse. Thank someone refractory periods were something only humans had to deal with, because Aziraphale was still hard. Crowley, lacking any of his usual grace or tact, roughly slid aziraphale further onto the bed so he could kneel between the angel’s legs. Aziraphale ran his hand through the stick mess on his chest and offered Crowley the messy fingers. “Clean me up, Crowley,” 

Crowley growled around Aziraphale’s fingers, pulling three into his mouth at once and sucking on them suggestively. He drug a hand through the remaining mess on the angel’s belly, coating two fingers in mess before smearing the mess against the Aziraphale’s entrance. Aziraphale gasped and shifted, trying to push Crowley’s fingers into himself. Crowley obliged and sucked against the fingers in his mouth again, earning him a wrecked moan. He pulled off of the angel’s hand and ducked down to nip at his inner thigh. Aziraphale was moving deliciously against his hand, already open for him. “ _ How dirty, Angel, being fucked open with your own come. _ ” Aziraphale groaned and clenched around him before gasping out, “ _ Fuck me, Crowley. _ ” He didn’t need to be told twice. He had to grit his teeth to keep from coming right there and then as he pushed into Aziraphale, already as worked up as he was. He stilled to catch his breath, to get a hold of himself. To wrap a hand around Aziraphale’s dick, miracle slick, and begin to stroke. Aziraphale was moaning under him and shifting as much as he could to fuck himself on Crowley’s prick. He groaned as Aziraphale tightened around him, then swore through his teeth as he fought down another near-orgasm. 

“ _ F-fuck, angel, I’m not going to last. _ ”

Aziraphale clenched down again, “ _ Good, I want to feel you fill me, Crowley. _ ”

Crowley moaned and came unhinged, thrusting into the angel like something wild. Aziraphale’s hand joined his on the angel’s dick helping Crowley stroke him. He only lasted a few more brutal thrusts before he was coming, screaming Aziraphale’s name and feeling like the soul he didn’t have was vacating his body in a rush of blinding pleasure. He continued to fuck Aziraphale through his orgasm, rhythmlessly pistioning his hips as Aziraphale kept them both stroking the angel’s dick. Aziraphale was tightening around him and coming moments later with a low groan. Crowley withdrew delicately, and then less delicately collapsed on top of the angel, struggling to catch his breath. It was a long few moments before the ability to process speech returned to him, and longer yet until he was able to formulate, “You’re a right bastard, angel.” 

Aziraphale laughed beneath him, and then manhandled the both of them into a more comfortable arrangement on the bed before replying, “And you’re an awful loser, dear boy.” Crowley was slipping into sleep before he’d had time to be properly offended by that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just, it's all porn from here, I guess. 
> 
> Prompt:  
> Dynamic: Top Aziraphale, bottom crowley, or switches  
> Genre: humor, kink, fluff  
> Prompt: Crowley and Aziraphale get competitive with each other during a board game night in their  
> South Downs cottage.
> 
> NOTE: OKAY IM SORRY, IT DIDN'T END UP AT THE SOUTH DOWNS, BUT I HAD REASONS, SHAE. 
> 
> As always, comments and critique welcome!


End file.
